


No 31. Today's Special: Torture

by Smiley5494



Series: Whumptober 2020 [30]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Whipping, Whumptober 2020, no 31
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26987284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smiley5494/pseuds/Smiley5494
Summary: A follow on from No. 1, Merlin's POV during the whole event.Merlin woke to pain. His body felt weak and every breath was harsh, rattling in a deeply unsettling way. The chains dug into his wrists and burned where the iron met his skin. He could vaguely see the blurry form of a man, leaning towards him, and on reflex, he reached for the figure’s neck.
Series: Whumptober 2020 [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1965595
Comments: 4
Kudos: 60





	No 31. Today's Special: Torture

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:
> 
> No 31. TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE  
> Experiment | **Whipped** | Left for Dead

Merlin woke to pain. His body felt weak and every breath was harsh, rattling in a deeply unsettling way. The chains dug into his wrists and burned where the iron met his skin. He could vaguely see the blurry form of a man, leaning towards him, and on reflex, he reached for the figure’s neck.

“Merlin!” The figure spoke in Arthur’s voice, and that combined with the sudden flare of pain, caused him to slump backwards. He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision. He wrestled himself into a sitting position, wincing every time the irons burned his wrists. While everyone else was moving closer, no longer as focused on him, he tested his magic. It was buried deep beneath the surface, as though a scared vulnerable creature, and he couldn’t seem to coax it to the surface, no matter how hard he tried. The effort took the majority of the energy he had, and he coughed, settling back against the wall.

“You right there, mate?” Gwaine asked, nodding to him.

Merlin, busy trying not to show exactly how much pain he was in at the moment, snapped back, “just fine.” Before shooting an apologetic look towards Gwaine. The other knight seemed to accept it and Merlin turned his attention towards the cuffs. The inscription was one used to bind a sorcerer's magic, creating a barrier between the sorcerer and the natural magic. For Merlin, who _was_ magic, it was the reverse. The cuffs locked his magic away, deep inside, where he couldn’t access it without causing more pain.

Merlin had no idea that iron burned warlocks and sorcerers, he knew that touching iron object had always caused a slight discomfort, but it was barely noticeable, hardly worth worrying over. This, however, was the purest iron Merlin had ever touched, and it _hurt_.

His mind swam, having a hard time staying focused on the moment, and he coughed slightly, his ribs aching. Their captor arrived mid-morning, and Merlin listened, only half-present, as he spoke to the knights. Arthur and the knights moved in front of him at one point, right before Merlin felt his chains burn and move. His eyes snapped up towards their captor, and he tried his best to not be dragged out by his wrists. The burns would probably scar, now that he thought about it, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be too unhappy about that.

He turned back to his stricken friends, gave them a tight smile and said, as loudly as he dared, “don’t worry.”

His captor led him through the maze of corridors and into a secure room with two other men, both tall and burly, their gazes on Merlin with hungry sadistic excitement.

“Those chains only burn sorcerers,” his captor said lowly into Merlin’s ear, “and those burns look pretty bad to me.”

“Not a sorcerer,” Merlin protested halfheartedly, it was reflex at this point—not to mention inaccurate. He was a warlock, not a sorcerer.

“That’s a lie.” His captor scoffed, and Merlin shot him a wry grin, amused until his wrists were yanked above his head and his breath caught. He nearly screamed, but fought the noise, drawing on the memories of serket stings and fireballs to the chest. His captor eyed Merlin’s prone form, before cutting Merlin’s shirt and jacket off.

“Hey,” Merlin objected, closing his eyes, “that’s my favourite shirt.”

“Oi!” His captor snapped, slapping Merlin across the face, he gripped Merlin’s throat with one hand, squeezing until Merlin gasped for air. His captor then let go, allowing Merlin a few deep breaths before slapping him again. Merlin _desperately_ wanted to know the guy’s name; thinking of him as ‘his captor’ was getting boring and repetitive. “Tell me all the royal secrets.”

Merlin cracked an eye open, and repeated in a voice that came out in a husky whisper due to his injured throat, “royal secrets?”

“Yes! You must know _something_ , sorcerer.”

“Uh…” Merlin frowned as though in deep thought and the man leant forward expectantly. “Nah. I don’t feel like it, to be honest.”

Merlin allowed a small groan as the man hit him across the chest with the end of the iron chain. It left an angry red burn where it touched and the man’s eyes lit up.

He fastened the end of the chain to Merlin’s cuffs, looping it through a hook in the roof, then left the room. Merlin was alone with his thoughts, and the painful burns on his wrists and chest. His captor walked back in a minute later with a nasty looking whip in his hands. Merlin fought back a flinch, but based on the wide grin the older man and his accomplices gave him, he seemed to have been unsuccessful.

“How about this, sorcerer,” the man said coolly, “for every question you don’t answer to my satisfaction, I give you a lash.”

“How about no?” Merlin answered tiredly, the response was a painful welt on his back where the whip had hit him. He groaned and barely bit back a scream.

“What are Arthur Pendragon’s weaknesses?”

“He’s an ass.” Merlin snarked, still in that pained whisper, and the man tutted. Another lashing joined the first and Merlin did yell that time. His magic flared slightly, and Merlin’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Let’s try again, shall we? What are Arthur Pendragon’s weaknesses?”

“He doesn’t know how to get dressed in the morning.”

“No.” The man said, the whip connecting with Merlin’s flesh in an agonising sting, “ _What are Arthur Pendragon’s weaknesses_?”

“He makes a pretty good donkey.” Merlin closed his eyes and drew on his magic. The whip hit with a biting sting and Merlin’s eyes flared gold as the cuffs disintegrated. The man bit back a curse and dropped the whip in favour of a sword. Merlin fell to the ground, coughing slightly, but he drew himself up quickly.

Merlin grabbed his shirt and jacket, repairing them with a flash of gold, and pulling them over his head. Moving like that was painful, the welts from the whip, and the burns from the iron making moving a chore. The man had gotten over his surprise as he lunged for Merlin.

Merlin summoned the man’s keys as an afterthought and bolted, slipping through the first door he saw and hiding in the shadows. He heard the man yelling for his lackeys to find Merlin, and he waited until he heard footsteps going in the other direction.

Merlin bolted, asking his magic to guide him to his friends. It did so and Merlin found himself outside of their cell.

“Merlin!” Elyan said brightly, “It’s damn good to see you.”

Merlin found the right key and the door swung open. He fumbled for a minute, as a flair of pain surged through him, but he managed to fit the right key into Elyan’s cuffs. He repeated the process for the rest of his friends and with his sore throat still affecting his voice he whispered, “Quick, the weapons are this way.”

He’d started to limp, one of the whip lashes had hit his thigh on the follow-through and it had started to burn but he pushed through it, knowing that if he didn’t lead the others out they would never find their way in this maze.

He would have time later to heal his wounds, and Gaius would be sure to take a look at them, no matter what Merlin said.


End file.
